


Playtime

by BalefireFlatlands



Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: It's a good day when I don't have to use the dub-con tag for these two, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: The Outcrier levels the playing field with his generator boy.





	Playtime

The Outcrier stopped in front of the trader’s shop, eyeing the various items of clothing they had on display. He rubbed the fabric of one of the shirts between his fingers, grunting at how scratchy it was. About to move onto the next one the trader called him back, looking around conspiratorially before pulling out a metal trunk from beneath the stall and flipping the lid to expose the high quality goods within.

Smirking the Outcrier returned, his interest peaked. He gestured to Lectricy at his side, pointing to the trunk, “Pick out something for yourself.”

Lectricy’s eyes went wide, he’d never been given a choice about anything before. He didn’t even get to decide when or what he ate. There were definitely still wants and desires flitting around his fume-addled brain, they’d just been so stamped down he never let them be known. Kneeling down he carefully sorted through the items initially settling on something red and kind of silky that he knew the Outcrier would like, but his hands kept going to a soft knit shirt, army green with matching patches on the elbows. He looked between the two, unsure what to do.

The Outcrier saved him from his indecision by plucking the green shirt out from beneath his hand, trading a jug of water and a good hunting knife for it and a plastic milkcrate in florescent pink. Tugging the cord connecting him to his generator boy, the Outcrier headed further down the row of makeshift stalls set up around Gastown, a market of sorts having sprung up now that Scrotus wasn’t around trying to kill everyone he came across.

“C'mere.” He helped Lectricy out of the backpack he was carting around; for this little excursion he was wearing a wire cage on his back full of trade goods instead of the generator. The Outcrier carefully worked it off him so that he could put his new shirt on. It was a little big, the sleeves hanging down below his hands, but he could tell Lectricy was grinning behind the fabric around his face. It had a thin hood too and he pulled it down over his face, shading his eyes from the sun. “Not bad.”

He held the pack up to slip it back onto Lectricy, using him as a glorified cart for the time being. A few people had stopped to stare at him as he clothed his living sex toy in public, but he glared at them till they moved on. He’d been increasingly soft with Lectricy in private, trying to coax out whatever bit of a personality he had left, but never in public. He was too attached to his image to have it tainted with the idea that he thought of Lectricy as a person, cared about him more than just as a possession.

Lectricy was still wearing his fume rag, but he hadn’t huffed in over a week, the Outcrier trying to ration him down into sobriety. It wasn’t easy, Lectricy was addicted beyond belief, but a good deal of his desire to be high had to do with how terrible his existence was. Just an object to be used when needed and expected to be basically catatonic when he wasn’t wanted, always available to be fucked but not treated like a human. And that was on the Outcrier to change, bit by bit as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to treat a person he genuinely cared about. Lectricy shouldered the cage again, following along behind the Outcrier like the good little slave he was, though every so often he’d stop to pet his shirt, thrilled with the texture beneath his fingers.

—

Back in the bedroom with their goods the Outcrier helped him out of the pack again, starting to sort through the items he’d traded for while Lectricy sat on the bed to unlace his shoes. Not as good a haul as he’d hoped but with an ever dwindling supply of items in the world, it wasn’t surprising that the quality was starting to drop off. Lectricy’s shirt only had a few holes in it, it was probably worth far more what the Outcrier had paid for it.

“You’ve got two shirts now. That’s more than just about everyone in the whole damn world.” He stashed his new flask on the shelf with a few others before putting the milk crate on the bed and starting to toss things into it: the harness he’d gotten for Lectricy to wear, the collar he’d come with when the Outcrier had bought him, rope, some belts. He worked the chain off the foot of the bed, detaching the leather shackles he had there. They were dusty and cracked from disuse, he’d only put Lectricy in them once and it had been years ago. He told himself it was because the kid was so obedient he didn’t need to be tied up, but honestly Lectricy hadn’t liked having his ankles lashed to the bed and being unable to move. Even before he admitted to himself that he cared about the fumehead, he’d noticed, and unconsciously never done it again.

“What are you doing with that?” Lectricy sprawled out on the bed, his shirt riding up on his stomach as he stretched.

Somehow that was even more alluring with clothes on and the Outcrier let his eyes dart over before he finished gathering things up and storing them near the foot of the bed. “Getting organized and making some room.” He stashed the crate against the wall pushing a bunch of junk to the side and making a small area in the corner of the room. Another pile of crap he gathered up in his arms, leaving the room without another word as Lectricy stared and got to his feet, uncertain if he was supposed to follow him.

As quickly as he left, he returned, carrying two battered metal folding chairs that he set up next to a small card table. He gestured to one of the chairs and Lectricy obediently plopped into it, head in his hands and elbows on the table as he watched the Outcrier set up a board in front of them.

“Crow Dazzle stole my last set of cards, so I’m improvising here.” Actually he’d won them, but that didn’t matter. The Outcrier set up a black and red checkered board and rooted through his hoard pulling out a bag full of various bottle caps and arranging them on the board properly. “You know how to play?”

Lectricy shook his head, he’d never played a game in his life.

The Outcrier had figured as much, probably easier to teach him something like checkers than go into poker straight away. Lectricy was getting progressively more sober, going longer and longer between huffing, but he was still damaged; his brain fried from long term emotional abuse and drug use. He forgot words sometimes, forgot how to speak, would get confused when treated like a human because he didn’t know how to be a person anymore.

“Strip checkers doesn’t have the same ring to it as strip poker, but it is what it is. So you capture one of my pieces,” The Outcrier moved a white bottle cap diagonally, eliminating one of his own black ones. “And I have to take off a piece of clothing. I get one of your pieces, you take off something. Understand?”

Lectricy’s eyes had widened, he’d never been put in a position where he had the ability to control anything, especially not his keeper; his master. He gulped and nodded. “What happens when someone wins?”

The Outcrier steepled his fingers, grinning. “Well we’ll just have to see who wins won’t we?”

Lectricy stared, and then looked down at the board in front of him. It was easy to see his mind struggling to work, wondering if this was some sort of a trap to test his obedience and submissiveness. Was he allowed to win? Eventually he nodded, reaching out and moving one of his pieces forward, diagonally how the Outcrier showed him.

A few moves later and the Outcrier was the first to take a piece, smiling and gesturing to Lectricy who reached up to take off the fabric around his face. Soon the Outcrier was removing his goggles and his vest. He was still at an advantage, wearing a lot more layers than his generator boy was. But Lectricy learned fast by observation and he’d gotten the older man down to his undershirt and pants before ultimately running out of things to take off.

“Does this mean I lose?”

“I don’t know about that. Means I win though.” The Outcrier stretched, standing up and circling around his boy. “Now. What do I want as my prize?”

The question was obviously rhetorical and Lectricy stood up to wait for orders, surprised when instead he was gathered into the man’s arms. The Outcrier pet his head for a bit while he decided what he wanted to claim. Smacking his ass he coaxed him down onto all fours on the bed, Lectricy already obediently spreading his legs for him. He slapped his butt again, rubbing at the bright red splotch blossoming across the pale skin there.

Unbuttoning his fly he reached over for the lube, coating up his cock and his fingers, but instead of shoving either into Lectricy’s ass he leaned over his back, working his hand around his cock and starting to jack him off with his slickened palm. Lectricy gasped, legs quivering as he held himself up while also focusing on the sensations radiating from his groin. He was so sensitive, deprived and abused where even pleasure was tinged with a little bit of fear; would this amazing feeling be followed up with pain? Continuing to work him the Outcrier pressed a finger into his ass rubbing against his sensitive insides in time to the stroking with his hand.

And Lectricy lost it.

He came often when they fucked, but it usually wasn’t because he felt good. It was just his body’s reaction to all the stimulus being provided, especially since he was very small and slender and the Outcrier had a dick nearly the length of Lectricy’s forearm. Almost always he was in some amount of pain, the huffing had made it manageable but the Outcrier sure hadn’t helped things by slamming into him without a care about his wellbeing.

In fact fingering him like this the Outcrier could feel how damaged he was, scars criscrossing his insides from where he’d been torn open. Lectricy was groaning in pleasure now though, faceplanted into the mattress with his fingers clenched so tightly into the sheets. Tilting his head the Outcrier appreciated the sight as his generator boy started to rock his hips into his hand, a deep red flush spreading across his face and shoulders. He may have never let Lectricy top, but the instinct to piston his hips, to snap his dick into the slickness of the Outcrier’s hand, was still there.

Honestly he’d just wanted to prepare him so he could fuck him roughly, but now he was fascinated by watching him writhing in pleasure. His face was contorted in the most alluring way, his knuckles turning white from holding onto the blanket so hard. He wasn’t just moaning anymore, he was gasping out whimpering noises as he tried to simultaneously push back harder against the Outcrier’s fingers while also thrusting his hips forward.

When he came it was with the most beautiful stuttering moan the Outcrier had heard, coating his stomach and chest before he collapsed. Pulling his fingers free the Outcrier rolled him onto his side, watching his shoulders heave as he tried to catch his breath, eyes half lidded and glazed over. Suddenly he started up swallowing hard and looking down at himself, breath going shallow as he realized that he’d gotten off without the Outcrier’s permission, without being fucked. For the first time he’d been lost enough to only care about his own pleasure and he knew punishment was soon to follow his transgression.

“Hey. You’re fine.” Trying to be gentle he pushed Lectricy back down against the mattress, sliding next to him. “C'mere.”

Hesitating, and clearly frightened, Lectricy snuggled up to his side, his heart racing and expecting to be hit. The Outcrier wrapped an arm around him to caress his side, hoping to calm him down. He couldn’t begin to fathom the way Lectricy’s brain worked, when it worked at all, but he did understand why he was scared right now. He was a sex toy, an object for someone else’s pleasure, having any of his own was unspeakable.

But the Outcrier had strangely thoroughly enjoyed watching him be reduced to a moaning, squirming mess. Sure he hadn’t gotten off himself, but that was fine, he felt real good right now, “We’ll just call this one a practice round. You’re still learning the game.”

Lectricy dared a glance up at him, eyes softening, not fully understanding the gesture, but realizing that he wasn’t about to be punished, that it was okay for him to have some emotions of his own, “If that’s what happens when I lose, what happens when I win?”

Chuckling the Outcrier ran a hand down Lectricy’s side. “I haven’t decided yet. But it’ll be something real good for you.” Maybe he could get him moaning loud enough to be heard from the racetrack.

He’d have to give some serious thought to how much he’d give up to his lover, he still had trouble thinking of them as equals. But he just needed to start small: a hand job, a blow job, easing into the possibility of something more.

Grunting he held Lectricy close, even thinking about letting someone else take control made him tense up. But Lectricy immediately nuzzled into his neck, gently nibbling at him and putting him at ease. Closing his eyes it took him a while to realize he was softly cuddling with Lectricy who was half on top of him.

Damn Lectricy was getting good at conniving gentleness out of him without him even noticing. He settled down, holding onto Lectricy and listening to his breathing, feeling his heartbeat against his chest. For someone who hated this soft shit he sure spent the majority of his time pressed up against his bed-mate, Lectricy able to get him to relax and cradle him in his arms without even realizing it.

Lectricy was a lot better at this game than he thought.


End file.
